I Can't Touch My Demons, but They Can Touch Me
by erenstitanbutt
Summary: No one cared, right? And no one ever would. That's what the voice in his head told him. He wasn't even sure if that little, cold voice was him, or something else. It seemed to be both the embodiment of his demons and the source of them. But nothing he did shut it up. Ereri, suicidal Eren. WIP. -Rating has been raised-
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Mentions of cutting and eating disorders, attempted suicide

Disclaimer: I do not own SNK or any of the characters affiliated with it. I own the plot of this fic and that's it.

**Eren's POV**

_"You know what you are?" Her voice was a set of fangs sinking into the back of his neck and freezing him in place. Yes, he knew what she was going to say, more or less. He knew. Yet he silently begged her not to say it, to say something else and prove them all wrong. To prove his own mind wrong._

_"You're a monster. You're so messed up, I bet you're not even human."_

They all teased him, reprimanded him when he let their words hurt him. But their words weren't words, they were knives coated in poison that gave them a lasting sting that slowly faded to an ache that never really went away. When the wound healed, there was still a scar to show for it. Invisible scars piled up on each other, covering every inch of his body. It was a miracle, a curse, he didn't know which, that no one else could see them. Maybe it was just because covered them all with a fake smile so good it seemed real to everyone.

_"I'll bet your father left because of you."_ Things like that were said with a purpose.

_"Maybe your mom didn't die, maybe you're lying because she left you too."_ These kinds of words were said on a whim, regretted but never taken back. They didn't care enough to apologize.

No one cared, right? And no one ever would. That's what the voice in his head told him. He wasn't even sure if that little, cold voice was him, or something else. It seemed both the embodiment of his demons and the source of them. But nothing he did shut it up. Telling himself that the people in his life loved him was useless when he didn't believe it himself. They put up with him, but he saw the way they glared at him when he screwed something else up, got detention yet again, got in another fight. He didn't try to stir up trouble; trouble seemed to stir in him. He put on a smile. Maybe if he smiled enough he would actually begin to feel happy (he'd read that somewhere online, but it never worked). Maybe the lies would become truths (they didn't). It went on longer, the voice in his head got louder and those of other people got meaner.

So he tried the next logical step. He tried to bleed his demons out. He tried to hack them out of his body, a bit at a time. It always worked for a moment, the sting of pain an eraser for his thoughts and the dark blood pearling on his skin like a sigh of relief. But it was only for a moment, for many moments in quick succession until there were scars lining his wrists up to his shoulders and scattered across his hips. These ones were solid, tangible, and felt completely different from the imaginary ones left by other people. They were a different kind of pain.

He covered them with long sleeves, but occasionally someone would see. And it was always the person he wanted to hide them from the most.

_"You cut? Gross. That's pathetic. You're just seeking attention. Stop being so selfish."_

But he wasn't looking for attention. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should reach out for help, but every time he considered telling someone what he was actually feeling that voice came back and reminded him that no one would care, that they would just dismiss it all as "attention-seeking lies".

The same thing happened when he tried to eat less, until it got to the point where he consumed nothing more than water some days (nowadays he ate more, keeping up appearances so as not to worry Mikasa or Amrin or Rivaille, but food had stopped tasting like anything long ago).

His life had never been all darkness, though. There were rays of light, little suns that he revolved around. But anything that made him happy was used against him, warped until it changed from a precious gem into a blade against his throat.

Sometimes, their jaded words struck dead center.

_"Why do you always cling around him? He's weird. Do you like him? Faggot."_

Was it really so wrong? Of course it was, everything about him was wrong. That's why he never said anything (even when Rivaille let out that so rarely heard beautiful laugh and his lips looked so kissable Eren though he was going to explode), covered it all up with that painted smile and fake laugh he eventually perfected. Even when he got older and people at school stopped being so verbal and just ignoring him and shooting him dirty looks. Even when it felt like he was breathing through a pillow and walking on knives, he kept up a happy face. He tried drowning everything and keeping it pent-up, letting it all out later alone with his blades.

But that could never go on forever. He knew that, and the voice in his head murmured that to him every day. He was a burden on everyone, wasting what little money Mikasa and he had to pay for the college he might as well never have applied to. He wasn't even sure what he was doing, why he was still here.

Why he hadn't done this before now.

_Bzzt. Bzzt._ Eren glanced down at his phone, unsurprised to find another text from Mikasa._ How're you feeling? Still sick?_ I can buy some medicine after class. Eren sighed, picking up his phone, telling her that he'd found some behind the bathroom mirror. He wasn't ill, not physically. His stepsister needed to stop wasting her money on him. Even if he was actually sick, he wouldn't be around to take any pills this afternoon. Besides, he already had plenty.

Plenty enough to get the job done.

He didn't even know if this would work, but he had to try. If he failed, he would create an even bigger mess for everyone. But the door to his and Mikasa's shared flat was locked, and she wouldn't be home until far later. The pills would kick in by then, right? His phone went off again. Okay. If you feel better try to study a bit. Eren sighed softly and responded with a simple_ K, thanks Mikasa._

It was a little weird thinking that was the last text he'd ever send her. He set his phone down on the counter next to the single folded sheet of paper that was his only note and sat down on the toilet lid, opening the bottle of sleeping pills with shaky hands._ Why are you shaking? Are you scared of dying?_

No. He wanted this, he didn't, but he did. It'd be better when he was gone.

_You're scared._

Maybe he was, a little bit. But it wouldn't matter in a little while. He poured some of the little blue pills into his palm, dropping one. He picked it up gingerly and stared at it for a few long moments before taking a deep breath and popping the first few into his mouth, falling over the edge of doubt.

_That's it. Swallow them. It's too late to turn back now, keep going. Keep going._ The voice in his head blocked everything else out, egging him on until it too faded and it was mindless repetition. It was going to be over, finally over, his joke of a life was finally ending...

_I'm so tired..._

**Rivaille's POV**

Something wasn't right.

Mikasa had given him her key and a bag of stuff to give Eren, telling him that he would be home and probably awake. He'd come to their flat, where he'd been plenty of times before, expecting Eren to be totally fine after a day of being "sick", sitting on the couch and playing video games or something. But when he walked in, the house was silent. And clean (not to his standards, of course, but after a day of Eren lounging around the place was usually a dump). He announced his presence, left the bag of medicine on the counter and wandered through the place, peeking his head into both bedrooms in search of life.

Rivaille was worried now. He tried texting him a few times, eventually hearing a buzzing noise from behind the closed door to his bathroom. _What, is he taking a shit or something?_ He knocked on the door, waiting for a reply...

None came.

"Eren? You in there?" No answer. He tried the handle, found it unlocked and entered, deciding that if he walked in on him passed out on the toilet he'd take a picture and use it for blackmailing purposes later...

He was pretty sure his heart had stopped. Or maybe the whole world. Maybe the entire universe had imploded, collapsed into a black hole with Rivaille as the center. His thought process came to an abrupt halt and ice coursed through his body instead of blood. Whatever he'd been expecting, it was not to find Eren collapsed on the floor, an empty medicine bottle by his hand and a few blue pills scattered around him. Rivaille's first movements were jerky, hesitant as he took a few steps and bent over to pick up the bottle that had once held...sleeping pills.

And then all slowness was gone and he wasn't even thinking anymore he was just moving, acting on instinct because this fucking idiot had swallowed almost an entire bottle of sleeping pills and fuck he was going to be violently sick or paralyzed for days or die no he couldn't die not Eren- He was already dialing the number, barking out the situation in a tone that was panicked and sharp, his breaths shaky when he finally remembered to take them, his entire body shivering because he hadn't expected this. Rivaille, who was so calm and collected was falling apart at the seams, going hysterical as more time passed and the idiot woman on the other end of the phone tried to calm him down, that someone was on the way because fuck what if they were too late, what the fuck was even happening, why had Eren done this why?

Now he shoved that damned bottle, Eren's phone, and the paper next to it in his pocket, lifted the damned idiot off of the ground and headed down to where the ambulance would be any minute now, they had to be there soon because who knew how long he'd been lying there for, who knew how many of those fucking pills he'd taken, who knew how long he'd been thinking about this... but he didn't have time to feel guilty now.

So he just moved, passed Eren to the paramedics and snapped at them to be careful, for fuck's sake, because Eren was fragile even though he pretended not to be and he was precious even though Rivaille acted like he wasn't. God, why hadn't he ever told him that? Maybe this wouldn't have happened, maybe if he'd told Eren how much he needed him he wouldn't have done this...

But now was not the time for guilt, now was the time to text Mikasa the details in short sentences as the ambulance rushed to the hospital. Her response was equally clipped, and Rivaille knew she was panicking at the other end of the phone. The paramedics asked him a few questions and he answered in a strained monotone, looking down at his hands. They were shaking. He was scared.

Scared, because Eren could die. Scared, because he hadn't had any idea that Eren felt like he had to do this. Scared, because who knew how long he'd been struggling with this. Rivaille was scared and hoping, praying to a god he didn't really believe in that Eren was going to keep breathing, that his heart would keep pumping oxygen through his drugged body until his system cleared and he woke up and kept living. Rivaille couldn't just lose him.

He couldn't.

There was someone sitting next to him, repeatedly assuring him that Eren would be okay until they got to the hospital. Rivaille wasn't sure if he believed her, but those words still calmed him enough so he could think. His hand slid into his pocket and his fingertips ran over the crisp edge of the folded paper he'd picked up whilst running on autopilot. It's his note, right? He withdrew his hand like he'd been burned, placing it over his knee. There was no way he could read that, not now. Maybe not ever. He'd give it to Mikasa when she got to the hospital.

His thoughts soon spiraled down to focus on one sentence, repeating over and over in his mind:_ I'm sorry, we'll be there soon_. He breathed it again and again like a mantra, not caring if the woman sitting next to him heard.

_Eren I'm so, so sorry._

A/N: Okay, I'm not sure where this came from. Originally, it was going to be a oneshot but I thought of a longer plot that I liked more, so now it's going to be multichapter. Not very many chapters, though. I know it's really depressing right now. It's also very ooc, especially with Rivaille. It also seems rushed to me...OTL

I'd just like to mention, I have written for depressed characters before and have been asked if I feel this way myself. I don't. I have been in a place where I wanted nothing more than to let my unhappiness out, but I've never cut. Please, I don't want anyone to be able to relate directly to this story because that is such a sad thing, such a horrible place to be in. I'm here if anyone ever wants to talk 3


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey I have to apologize because this took longer to write than I thought it would… School takes up a lot of what would be writing time, sadly. Thanks so much for the reviews though! I didn't expect the, this quickly and it's motivating!

I'm not too happy with parts of this chapter, and I know everything is a little slow right now... But I really want to get this out before I'm laden down with homework and everything all over again.

**Eren's POV**

The first thing he was aware of was how dry his mouth was and how fuzzy his head felt. Slowly, he became aware of a beeping noise and the distant sound of muffled voices and light behind his closed eyes. They slid open, his vision coming into focus too slowly for his liking. He was met with a tiled ceiling. But it wasn't familiar. _Where am I?_ It smelled weird, like antiseptic, and his body felt fuzzy, numb…

He could only lie helplessly still when his memories hit him like a truck. He _wished_ a truck would hit him. That fate would be better than the one that he was living. He knew where he was: the hospital. Someone had found him before he wanted to be found, and how he wished they hadn't. Didn't they _understand_? He hadn't just randomly decided he was done with life. He'd done it purposefully. He didn't want to be here, fuck, who had saved him and why had they done it, how could they be so selfish? Couldn't they have just left him to die? He was already a burden on everyone, didn't they see that? He wanted to be dead he wanted to be _gone_.

_Or am I the selfish one? Why would they save me? Who was it? I should be dead. Why am I not dead?_ He felt sick, and he didn't know if it was because of the overdose, his thoughts or both. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. _What, are you going to cry? Weak. That's why people say mean things to you. You're too weak to deal even with yourself._

Eren's tears probably would've welled up and spilled over if his door hadn't opened then, revealing a pudgy nurse with soft, rounded features, carrying a tray of who knew what. She looked surprised to see his eyes open, but broke into a smile after a moment silence.

"Oh good, you're up. You're recovering quite quickly, thank God." She sounded happy, but he was not. The nurse bustled at his bedside, still talking. "I need to run some tests now, and I'm sure you want to eat, but we don't know if you can hold anything down yet. Your system isn't cleared all the way."

Eren opened his mouth, searching for his voice. It was weak. "It's fine. I'm not hungry." It wasn't a lie, for once.

The nurse gave him a long look, mouth turned up in a sad little smile. "You've had a lot of visitors. There's a few people who haven't left in the three days you've been here. So many are worried for you, dear. They'll be so happy to know you're awake."

_Three days…_ Eren didn't know what to say, so he just looked off to the side and nodded. His eyes fell on a bag sitting on the chair by his bed, his bag. The nurse followed his gaze and nodded. "Your sister brought that for you." _Mikasa...she's been here, of course she has. Anyone else, I wonder?_ He wasn't sure if he was hoping that he'd had other visitors or praying that he hadn't.

"Do you think you're up to some visitors? Family first, of course… Your sister has been really worried about you."

"Step-sister," he half-heartedly corrected. "Yeah, it's fine." He didn't want to see Mikasa. He didn't want to see her face or hear her voice, because both would be broken. She would blame herself, because she felt responsible for him. But he supposed he had no choice, knowing he would have to face her at some point or another. The nurse smiled sweetly and nodded once more before leaving the room. Eren had a few moments alone, taking in his surroundings as his head cleared. The room was plain, a typical hospital room. He hadn't noticed until now that he was hooked up to an IV, which was flooding his system with who knew what. It was probably dripping meds and fluids into him, keeping him alive...Was he still weak enough? He'd only just woken up, if he ripped it out would he go unconscious again? Would he actually die this time?

He didn't have time to think about his options anymore, because the nurse was back with Mikasa, who gave off an aura of uncertainty and anxiety. _So unlike her. I've caused more trouble than I'm worth, again. But it's worse this time, isn't it._ The nurse murmured something to her and left again, softly shutting the door. Mikasa didn't say anything as she set Eren's bag on the floor so she could pull up the chair and sit. There was a short silence. "How are you feeling?" She spoke softly, quietly.

Eren assumed she meant physically. Hoped she meant physically, and even if she didn't, that's the answer she was getting. "I'm tired. A little sore, I guess," he rasped. His voice sounded weird, but maybe it was just to him.

Mikasa nodded. "I'm so...so relieved, Eren." She reached forward and took his hand, clasping it in both of hers as if checking to prove he was really there. "Thank God you're okay. Eren, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've realized something, I should've been able to help you before you felt like you had to do this, I should've…"

Eren cut her off with a faint squeeze. _Stop. Stop, I can't stand to hear that._ "Mikasa. This isn't your fault." He wanted to continue, to tell her the truth, that this was all because he was weak and a burden on everyone and a waste of her money (between the two of them they had just enough to get by, even with Mikasa working a part-time job) and everything else that had led him to do this, but he could already hear her trying to take the blame off of him and onto herself. So all he could do was tell her half of it, the half she wanted to hear even if she didn't know she wanted to. He would tell her what he would tell everyone else, because that's what was expected and proper. "Really. I promise."

She looked up at him, obviously trying to hold back tears. "I thought I'd_ lost_ you, Eren. You're my only family, I was so scared. I could've done something to help you, but I didn't because I'd just blindly believed everything was okay if we had each other and I'm sorry and I won't make the same mistake again. I'm not going to let you deal with any of this alone, okay?"

"Okay." He loved her like he always had, like he had even when she babied him or treated him like he was years younger than him, though they were actually equal in age, and when she berated him for getting into fights even if it wasn't his fault. He knew she was trying to help, he knew she loved him too and that they were supposed to always have each other's backs because that's what siblings did... But no matter what anyone said or tried to do, he'd always be alone with the voice in his head and the demons in his chest. He'd always be alone because no one else knew what it felt like to have your own thoughts turn against you and whisper lies so many times they became truths.

But he could never say any of this aloud, because the monsters in him kept his mouth shut and throat dry, put fluffy words on his tongue so he passed off as "healthy". He could only promise others that it wasn't their fault (it wasn't, really) and he was going to be okay (he wasn't). That's what he was supposed to do.

Mikasa put her head down on the bed, still gently holding Eren's hand. Her shoulders shook and he knew she was crying now, unable to hide it. "I didn't want you to be so upset," he murmured. Although that voice liked to tell him no one would miss him, he knew Mikasa would, at the very least, and Armin (and he liked to hope Rivaille, but that was wishful thinking, wasn't it?). But they would move on quickly, because they would begin to see how much easier their lives would be without him. He wanted to stop Mikasa's tears, to console her and promise he wouldn't hurt her like this again.

But that would be lying right to her face, and he'd done that enough in his life, he figured.

There was a soft rap on the door, and then it opened again. The nurse stuck her head in. "Can I let two more people in now?" Eren nodded, and she stepped aside to let Armin and Rivaille in.

Eren really hadn't expected Rivaille to be here. He didn't want him to be here. Maybe he did; he didn't really know. Nonetheless, he managed a weak hint of a smile. "Hi," he murmured. Mikasa still hadn't lifted her head, but she wasn't shaking anymore. She didn't let go of Eren's hand, either. Armin came right to his side and took the other, threading their fingers together for a moment before releasing them.

"Hi Eren. How's the bed?"

His smile was a little more genuine, mostly because he didn't have to answer the question "How do you feel?" again. "Not that great," he decided after a moment.

"Well, the doctors said that you shouldn't have to be in here for more than a few days after you wake up, so you just have to bear with it for a little longer." Armin's voice was shaking, just a little. "You'll be going home...I was scared...you wouldn't be," he murmured. "It was Rivaille, you know," he murmured, casting a glance behind him. "He found you in time. Thank _God_ he found you."

Eren's voice was gone, stuck somewhere in his throat. A jumble of too many mixed emotions hit him all at once. He hadn't _wanted_ to be found in time. He hadn't wanted Rivaille to be the one to find him (preferably, no one would ever find him and he would just fade away, but that was impossible). But Rivaille had found him, he'd saved him, and that meant _something_, right? _No, it doesn't. Stop being conceited. He did what anyone would do if they found someone dying on the floor._ Eren wished he could tear his brain out of his head.

He looked down, only now realizing his arms were bare from just below his shoulders down, revealing the multitude of scars on his skin, the pale lines of old ones and the scabbing ridges of ones made just days ago. He pulled his free arm closer to his body, turning the other one over so the marks were hidden. _Some time to be self-conscious._

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Rivaille spoke. "I'm glad you're awake." His words were clipped and weary. Eren glanced up at him, now noticing the heavy shadows under his eyes that signaled little sleep. Armin sprouted them too, although less prominent. Mikasa, who was now sitting up, looked equally exhausted. Eren felt awful; he'd just made things so much worse.

Armin broke the silence. "Hanji and Erwin came by earlier; they're the only ones who know besides us. They'll be really relieved to know you're awake now." _Come on, they came just for Rivaille. They care about him, not you. They have no reason to._ Eren wished he was still unconscious. At least that voice had been silent then.

"Tell them I said hi," he managed. He scrambled to think of something else to say, but he didn't have to. The door to his room opened again, revealing the nurse laden down with a tray of food. She bustled in, leaving the door open.

"I'm sorry, but you all need to go now. He needs to eat and rest, and it'd be better if you were all out of here." Mikasa looked like she wanted to argue with her, but Eren cut her off with a gentle squeeze.

"Go home and sleep," he murmured, looking at Mikasa but addressing all of them. They were obviously exhausted, and he knew that Mikasa and Armin had been skipping their classes, Rivaille his job. The nurse was right, too. He wanted to be alone right now; he'd just woken up and he needed a moment to collect himself. It was hard to keep his eyes open when he'd expected them to stay closed forever. But until he was alone, he didn't have the freedom to sift through his jumbled thoughts. Now he had to do what he'd been doing his whole life: lie through his teeth and assure everyone with a smile. "Really, I'm okay. Just tired."

None of them believed him, of course. Why would they now? "I'll see you tomorrow," promised Mikasa. "Eat, sleep."

"I will." That much he could promise truthfully, right? Maybe not; even the small amount of food the nurse was hovering over made his insides churn in protest. He wasn't hungry, and even if he was, he didn't think he'd want to eat. Food would give him energy, sustenance that would restore his physical health and keep his systems running. Bland soup and bread looked utterly disgusting and_ no_ he did _not_ want to eat that.

He looked away, realizing that his face was clearly displaying his disgust at the thought of eating. He forced his lips to curve into another smile that almost certainly didn't reach his eyes as the three of them headed out. Rivaille was the last to leave, and he glanced back as he left the room. "I'll text you later."

"'Kay." Rivaille looked like he wanted to say more, lingering in the doorway with his mouth open, but he didn't. He shut the door softly behind him, and Eren found himself wishing he could have stayed. But Rivaille looked like he'd wanted nothing more than to get out of his room, to get away from the hospital, and Eren.

It stung a little, but it wasn't unexpected.

The nurse attended to him now, firing too many questions at him and asking if he was sore or if his head and throat hurt and if he thought he could keep food down. He tiredly answered her queries with one and two-word answers, turning down the food she offered him despite his earlier promises. He agreed to down a little juice just to please her so she would finally leave him alone.

His exhaustion came crashing down on him as soon as she left, leaving no time for him to think about things or try to get his head on straight (as if it ever had been). Instead, he fell into a less than peaceful sleep punctured by dreams that mostly involved Eren sitting alone in an expanse of no one except that voice for company.

_Now look at the mess you've made. You should have died a long time ago. You should be dead. You should be rotting in Hell, not surrounded by people you've deceived into caring about you. You should be dead._

When he woke up, he was more worn out than before and he never wanted to fall asleep again.

**Rivaille's POV**

Eren didn't look like himself.

He was pale and sickly and tired, obviously, but that wasn't what sent daggers straight into Rivaille's chest. It was his eyes. They looked_ lifeless_, and the dark smudges under them didn't help. The only thing Rivaille could say to pin exactly how Eren appeared to him was that he did _not_ look like he wanted to be alive at all. It wasn't obvious, but his distress showed in the way he looked at them when they first walked in the door, how he eyed food with disgust and how his pathetic attempts at reassuring smiles didn't affect anything other than his lips.

But it'd been stupid of Rivaille to even hope he'd be happy to see them. Eren had tried to _end his life_, for fuck's sake. People don't magically feel better when they wake up in the hospital after a failed suicide attempt, after who knew how long he'd been turning the idea around in his mind. The doctor had already given the number of a therapist, who Eren was going to be seeing as soon as he was released from the hospital (which would be in a few days, now that he'd woken up), and Rivaille could only hope that they would be able to help Eren.

Rivaille was sure Eren hated him at this point. He could have done _something_, right? He should've been able to see how unhealthily skinny he was (carrying him hadn't been a strain at all, and the doctor had confirmed him to be very underweight). He should've noticed the way his smiles didn't really reach his eyes (it was painfully obvious now). How come he hadn't ever noticed anything, when he was around Eren so much? He was so angry, not at Eren but at himself. He told himself he cared about Eren, but how could he say that when he hadn't bothered to look close enough and see how he actually felt?

_Because_, Rivaille thought bitterly as he stared out the window of Mikasa's car, _I was content with what I saw, right? I didn't want anything to be wrong so I didn't bother trying to make sure everything really was. Fuck this._

And he knew he looked like he had wanted to be anywhere but Eren's hospital room, because he had. But not because of Eren, because he felt guilty and he didn't know what to do. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, which made no sense because he was always calm and kept himself together but he'd almost lost Eren and that scared him, and he was scared he was still going to lose him even now.

And it was his fault.

He hadn't really calmed down since finding Eren on the bathroom floor. He hadn't slept for more than a few minutes of dozing off out of pure mental and physical exhaustion, but otherwise he'd been too nervous and his thoughts too chaotic to rest. Mikasa and Armin were in a similar state, and by some silent agreement they decided to stay together and ended up at Eren and Mikasa's apartment. Rivaille didn't want to be back here, but it was closer to the hospital than Rivaille's place, and Armin lived in the dorms on campus.

As soon as they entered, Mikasa absorbed herself with cooking something and Armin picked up a book and sat on the couch, opening it to the first page and staring blankly, quite obviously not reading. Rivaille stood near the doorway for a few drawn out moments, before falling into his habit of cleaning.

Dirty environments bothered him normally, but when he was nervous or otherwise emotionally unstable he cleaned more than usual. His behavior sometimes bordered on OCD, according to a half-joking Hanji, but when he was anxious he was plain out ridiculous. He would use an entire bottle of windex cleaning and re-cleaning every smooth surface of his flat when it got really bad. Now, he was intent to clean the entire apartment until it shone, and neither Mikasa or Armin said anything to stop him when he got the cleaning supplies out (which was good, because he probably would've snapped if he'd been forced to just sit there).

So he cleaned, pausing only when Mikasa shoved plates of pasta at him and Armin and threatened to shove the food down their throats if they didn't eat (none of them had eaten very much over the past three days), and then Armin fell asleep with the TV on, Mikasa studying on the couch next to him. Rivaille still cleaned, done with the kitchenette and living room now and moving back through the house, leaving Mikasa's already pristine room in peace (it was impressive how orderly she was, and Rivaille decided he didn't need to root through her stuff to get to the dust that had gathered in the corners) to pick up the clothes that covered Eren's floor.

His room was disgusting by Rivaille's standards, although it really wasn't _that_ horrible. There was just a lot of clothing lying around, drawers hanging open and his bed unmade. Rivaille threw all the clothes that weren't put away properly in the hamper, which meant most of what Eren owned was going in the wash. Instead of bothering to make his bed, he decided to just wash his sheets as well, because the difference between Eren's standards of "it's still clean" and his own was ginormous.

He was putting Eren's dresser back in order when a glint of metal in the top drawer caught his eye. Rivaille paused, reaching in and shifting a pair of mismatched socks out of the way. It took him a solid ten seconds to figure out what he was looking at. He hissed a curse when he did and pulled the little plastic box out of the drawer, resisting the urge to throw it out the window and instead opening it and pulling out of of the metal blades.

Rivaille wanted to smash them, wanted to destroy the damn things. "Fuck, Eren, fuck goddammit." He turned the razor over in his fingers, feeling sick. He_ hated_ this, hated himself, because here was proof that there was more evidence he could have picked up on but he _hadn't_, hadn't thought anything was off when Eren wore long sleeves in ninety degree whether or when he asked Armin not to wrap his arm around his shoulders because he'd slept on them wrong. He wanted to go back to the hospital and find every scar on Eren's body and erase it, but there was no way to do that.

Rivaille didn't think he could feel any worse than he had, but this was different. Because even if Eren got better for good, even if this was the worst of it all and Eren would only get happier from here on out (which wouldn't happen, Rivialle knew), he'd always have the scars he'd made on his body, and maybe Rivaille could have done something but now, now he was far too late and he'd fucked up and he _hated_ this.

_Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry._


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Wow thanks so much for the reviews okay feedback is super motivating (I don't write for reviews, but they're definitely encouraging!). Thanks sooooooooooo much! 333

I know this took forever to get out I'm sorry!

**Eren's POV**

As soon as he could keep things down, he was downing meds left and right. The nurse didn't specify what they were when he asked (already knowing their purpose, of course), only telling him that they would make him feel better, even if he didn't think so. Eren didn't want to take them, but considering he didn't have much of a choice (or any way to fake it under the hawk-like eyes of the nurses) he decided to take them willingly and see if they actually, _maybe_, could do something for him.

It didn't take him very long to notice a difference, but it wasn't one he was looking for. They numbed him, but they didn't keep him from hearing the constant mutterings in his mind. But it wasn't like a pill could make him want to give into the urge to breathe, make him feel like he was a living thing and not the broken piece of some old toy. If anything, the meds numbed what little sense of living he had left. But he didn't have a lot of time to think about that, because the meds made him sleepy. He fell in and out of a weird sort of dreamless haze, waking up to force more cardboard mush down his throat topped off with another round of pills every so often.

It'd been a day according to his nurse, but it felt like it had been both eons longer and shorter to him when they changed his dosage. He no longer felt tired all the time, which left his thoughts to prey on him for hours on end. He was restless, sitting around in bed all day. He was sure he could leave and be fine (physically, at least) by now, but the doctor told him he had yet to fully recover.

The doctor also told him he'd be starting therapy as soon as he was out of the hospital, and that he wasn't going to stop numbing himself with pills for a while. Dr. Brzenska wasn't as agreeable as the nurses that took care of him; she tried to convince Eren that therapy and meds would do him good because they'd make him happier so he could go back to a healthy life again.

Which was ridiculous, of course, because his life had never really been _healthy_. He'd been dealing with depression almost his entire life, even if he'd rarely (if ever) thought of it like a disorder or illness that could be labeled until now, when people were telling him that's what it was.

Eren sighed, scrolling through his old messages aimlessly, having nothing better to do than mess with his phone and wait half-heartedly for someone to text him. The hospital was, to put it simply, boring and depressing. The smell of antiseptic had probably stuck itself in his nose permanently, and the atmosphere made him uneasy. Rivaille probably loved how clean and orderly and quiet the place was, but Eren did not. He missed his own bed and his messy room and his music and the few people he could call friends, if he felt daring enough.

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his thoughts. It wasn't who he was hoping for, though. It was Sasha, asking if he, Amrin, and Mikasa were busy. Eren stared at the message for a long while, before slowly moving to respond. Mikasa and Armin were free as far as he knew, but he wasn't feeling well. It was believable. It was definitely easier to comprehend than the truth was.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm in the hospital after a failed suicide attempt" probably wouldn't go over very well. And he didn't need more people knowing about this and worrying about him and telling him to "stay strong". He wasn't strong, that's why he was here now. If he was a strong person, this wouldn't have happened. He never would have gotten like this in the first place. It was because he was weak that he'd become so messed up.

His phone buzzed again. _Okay Eren, feel better soon!_ Eren let his head loll back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. He wished he could be as carefree as Sasha, living a life consisting of simple things like school, food, and her boyfriend Connie (the two of them fit together like puzzle pieces). But he was stuck with a knife lodged in his side, and he was clearly too weak to pull it out himself. That's what it all came down to: him being weak. If he hadn't been weak, he wouldn't let words hurt him. He wouldn't have attempted suicide.

His thoughts were repetitive, running circles in his mind because he had nothing else to do but run the same things over again and again.

. . .

"...And so you'll be starting therapy on Saturday. Make sure to take your meds every day. Your prescription may change later, depending on how therapy works for you." Dr. Brzenska turned to Mikasa, handing her the bag with his pills in it. "I suggest he takes it easy for the next few days," he continued like Eren wasn't right there. "Don't leave him alone for too long, try to get him back into his normal life as quickly as possible. He'll be happier if things settle down quickly."

Eren never wanted to punch someone in the throat more than he did then. What, did she think he was going to try and jump off the nearest building as soon as he got out of here? Did she honestly think his life had ever been what she would call "normal"? Did she really think he wanted to hear what she was saying to Mikasa? He wasn't an idiot. The pills, the therapy, the things the nurses said outside his door when they thought he was asleep...they liked to think they were helping to mend the broken pieces, but they were really just covering everything up so no one had to look at the mess that he was.

The way Dr. Brzenska could talk about him like he was so broken that it didn't matter what people said, like he wouldn't hear it, infuriated him. He didn't need to be babysat. He didn't need Mikasa to waste their money on meds and therapy and his stupid hospital bill that he didn't even want to know the cost of because it was definitely ridiculous. It was a waste of time and money, because he doubted anyone could really do anything at this point.

He would try, though. He would take his pills, go to therapy, try to bury the monsters under layers of numbness. He would do it for Mikasa, because of how her voice sounded so trusting on the drive home from the hospital. He would do it for Armin, because he was the same quiet kid Eren and Mikasa had beaten up bullies for. And, if he stuck around, he'd do it for Rivaille…

I_f he even wants to hang around you after all the trouble you've caused._ Eren visibly flinched, shaking his head dismissively when Mikasa shot him a quizzical glance from the driver's seat.

Maybe the therapist would have a pill to keep him from thinking.

_Maybe you'll stop being so upset all the time._

Maybe the therapist would be able to help him.

_But you'll never get rid of the sickness in you, you know that._

Mikasa put a plate of leftover pasta on the table in front of him as soon as they walked in the door, telling him to eat it all. He swallowed tasteless bite after tasteless bite, wishing he could swallow his thoughts down as well. It was unfair that thoughts had no tangible form but they could still get the better of him, still cut him up on the inside. There was no way he could get back at them without beating himself up in the process.

But that was why the scars that laced up his arms and hips existed, because the only way to shut the voice up, to let him feel something more akin to human than the pathetic thing he was was to slice open his skin, because pain and blood were human things. It was usually enough to make just a few new scars, just to remind him that he was still alive… But sometimes it wasn't and he couldn't stop dragging the blade across his skin, putting more and more hatred into each movement because he really did _loathe_ how weak he was, how easily he succumbed to what other people said, to his own mind. He didn't deserve the time his friends wasted on him, Mikasa didn't deserve him as her only family, he didn't deserve to be a waste of space on this godforsaken planet anymore.

But he'd messed up. He'd messed up big, and now it was worse. He wanted to tell Mikasa not to even bother paying for therapy and pills and all of that but it wouldn't do any good. _If I try, will I actually get somewhere? Maybe it's not totally hopeless. Do I even dare to hope?_

Something in him did, despite everything he hated about himself, because now he couldn't try to hide it (even though it would've been better if none of them ever found out). Something in him, probably just the instinctual will to survive, wanted to grab onto the dismally small chance he had, and seeing as he didn't really have a choice because Mikasa would give up school just to make sure he took his meds and went to therapy...he would try to reach for that chance.

_But you'll fail and you already know it. Eventually you'll be dragging people down with you. You're only prolonging the inevitable._

Eren still wished Rivaille hadn't found him in the bathroom.

. . .

His therapist Mina was, thankfully, completely different from Dr. Brzenska. She didn't talk about him to Mikasa when he was standing right next to her, and she seemed a lot nicer in general. She didn't pester him with a billion questions right away, either. And her questions were easy enough to answer; not many of them were about "touchy" subjects or whatever. Mostly, she asked him about Mikasa and college and his parents (which she avoided as soon as he mentioned his mom was dead and his good-for-nothing father was long gone) and his friends and his interests and if he was in a relationship and how much sleep he usually got. It was easy enough to answer most of her questions honestly, and to bend the truth a little when it was called for.

Eren hadn't really been paying attention to the time and only realized that their hour was almost up when Mina put her clipboard aside and leaned forward on her elbows. "You know Eren, you seem like a pretty good person. I can tell that some of what you said wasn't completely true, but you seem to have answered me pretty honestly. I'm going to tell you what I know: you're not made up of your illness. You're a person with interests and passions and flaws and talents. Try not to forget that."

Eren looked at her for a long moment. "Okay."

She smiled and stood, opening the door. "Alright, I need to talk to your sister for a minute. Could you send her in?" Eren nodded and left the room, not even needing to look for Mikasa because she was already walking up to him. Before she could speak, he jerked his head back towards Mina.

"She wants to talk to you." Mikasa hesitated, but Eren waved her along. He sat in the corner of the small waiting room next to a tank full of brightly colored fish. He watched as a small blue one floated lazily towards the top. It hung aimlessly in the corner of the tank, facing away from the fish swimming around below it. It bumped a few times against the glass, then just drifting there as if dazed. _Hey fish, don't you like your tank? Or do you feel trapped in there? Maybe we're the same; we both want out of our current lives._

Maybe he was more screwed up than they thought; maybe he was insane. That would explain why he was acting as though a fish had some telepathic connection with him.

He looked up when he heard the door open, surprised at how quickly Mina had finished talking to Mikasa. Mikasa looked a little less worried than before, which made Eren feel better. Even if he was going to be causing so much trouble, he didn't want anyone to worry about him too much.

"Alright Eren, I'll see you next week. Good luck with your classes this week."

"Bye," he said with a nod, following Mikasa out of the building. Bells chimed as the door shut behind them.

"How was it?" Mikasa asked on the way to the car.

"Fine."

"I think she's nice. A lot nicer than Dr. Brzenska was." Eren nodded in agreement. "Anyway, I talked to some of the people in your classes and got copies of the notes from the lectures you missed. They're at home."

"You didn't have to do that...thanks." Mikasa really got on his case about school; she worked to pay for Eren's titution instead of her own until Eren threatened to not go altogether if she didn't put herself first. He'd had a part-time job until recently, and Mikasa was working at the coffee shop she'd been at for almost a year, so they had enough money for now. Eren wanted to put Mikasa's dreams before his (she wanted to be a doctor, and Eren still didn't really know where his life was heading. If he was going to do anything, he would probably go into be forensic science, but it was hard to think about the future when thinking about the following day gave him a headache), but Mikasa had other plans. "You need to do well now so you can be successful later," she'd told him countless times.

But the future didn't sound very good to Eren, and he didn't like thinking about it because it always ended in him worrying too much about one thing or another.

His phone buzzed, jerking him out of his thoughts._ Was the therapy building as stuffy as the hospital?_ Eren's mouth turned up into a slight smirk at Rivaille's text. He hadn't realized he'd been hoping Rivaille would talk to him.

_No, it was disgustingly clean though. And quiet. You would've loved it._

_I prefer my flat, thank you. I know who's been touching what there._

Eren rolled his eyes._ Cleanfreak._

_Call me what you will. You should thank me; I cleaned your room._

_Yeah, I noticed. Much appreciated. Now I can't find anything._ He could, of course, but he decided to give Rivaille a hard time about it.

_Please. It's probably already a dump again._

Eren grinned. _Sorry._

_You're not. I'll see you later. Glasses is dragging me out to some stupid movie._

_Bye._ Eren felt a pang of jealousy, as absurd as it was. It'd be fun to see a movie with Rivaille, which he'd done before but that was ages ago and Petra had come too (not that he didn't like Petra, of course). But... if it was just Rivaille and Hanji, wasn't that like a date? They were pretty close, weren't they? And Hanji was his age, while Eren was almost ten years younger than Rivaille.

Eren suppressed a sigh, looking away from his phone. _I shouldn't be jealous. I've never had a chance anyway._

It would've been nice to fall for someone he could actually hope for, though.

A/N 2: Yeah I know no Rivaille in this chapter I promise he'll be in the next one!

Am I being too repetitive with Eren's thoughts? Oops

I made Rico Eren's less than agreeable doctor because she doesn't trust Eren in canon (it's more obvious in the manga) and I just took that and used it here...It made sense to me, okay? Mina is Eren's therapist because it was shown that she seemed to be close to Annie (she sat at her table in training days-it's on the wiki), and I figure you'd have to be pretty darn nice and patient to be friends with Annie. I know I read way too far into this shhh. I know Mina would be his age but that's not important.

And just if you're curious: When I write for Eren I listen to mostly Bleeding Out, Lost Cause and Demons by Imagine Dragons so I guess it sets a kind of mood if you care at all.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: All I can say is that I'm really sorry for taking so long. I have no excuses.

The rating was raised for later.

Eren ended up a lot more unstable in this chapter than I'd originally planned...I'm really fucking him up I feel bad.

OOC-ness on Rivaille's part. And in general. Sorry.

**Rivaille's POV**

He'd taken them, and now he had the box in his hands: Eren's blades.

Mikasa had told him to take them when he showed her. He'd waited until Armin left (he had a tutoring session at the library or something), because he figured that this was something very few people needed to know about, before handing it to her and telling her in a few hollow words that he'd found it in Eren's room. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up with them in his possession, but Mikasa had asked him in a broken voice to take them out of the apartment. He understood; she couldn't just throw them away, but she couldn't keep them near Eren (and if he lied enough, she might relent and give them to him, Rivaille wasn't sure). Rivaille had planned to toss them, but when he'd gotten home he'd realized there was no way he could do that.

So he'd stuck them in a drawer, and so he was here, leaning against the counter and turning the little box over and over in his hands. He wished he could believe that he could stop Eren from inflicting pain on himself as long as he had his means of doing so, but no, he knew, he knew how easy it was to find new means of drawing blood. Even if he didn't have these, Eren could find needles, or pencil sharpeners, a pen, a knife, even his own teeth or nails if nothing else. Rivaille knew it wouldn't stop, even if Mikasa said that Eren was doing well (surprisingly so), because it was addictive. He knew, because he'd seen people slowly destroy themselves, and he knew because once he'd been just a little too close to attempting the same thing.

Eren wasn't going to get better quickly. And Rivaille...he should've been able to notice something before it got to this point. He spent enough time with Eren, it should've been obvious...Eren didn't want anyone to know._ It's not your fault._ Logic tried to reason with him, but guilt was clawing at his insides. Part of it was that he genuinely cared for the brat (which, he realized, had become more of a nickname than anything when it came to Eren), more than he'd ever meant to. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to call his feelings, but they didn't end at affectionate and that was a problem. It wasn't hard to hide his confusion, but he knew it wouldn't be good if he ended up with a "crush" or whatever on Eren. He couldn't dump such feelings on someone so unstable, and he really didn't want to ruin their relationship.

Rivaille sighed, shutting the box back in it's drawer. It wasn't healthy to overthink things like this. He ran a hand through his hair looking around the kitchenette aimlessly. He'd already thoroughly cleaned his entire flat three times, then showered, and even he wasn't about to do that again. But he couldn't just sit here…

He jumped when his phone buzzed loudly on the counter, breaking the silence that he'd been stewing in for the past hour. He stared at it like he'd never seen it in his life for a moment before checking it, slightly irked by...Hanji. Hanji, who was apparently already driving over to "take him out before he cleaned his apartment for the umpteenth time". He had to give it to her; that damn woman knew him well. Rivaille sighed at her lack of consideration for his own plans (although he had none) and slipped his phone in his pocket, fetching his wallet and shrugging his jacket on right as the doorbell rung. It didn't stop ringing until he opened to door.

"You could knock. Once."

She disregarded his annoyance. "Good, you're ready. Erwin's in the car. We're going to the bar."

"Why?" Rivaille stepped out, locking the door behind him.

"Because Erwin needs a few drinks after work and you've been cooped up inside for days. You need to get out more, y'know. You're gonna end up dying alone at this rate." He rolled his eyes, not even bothering to attempt a rebuttal. Hanji was impossible, but that was probably why the three of them stuck together. Rivaille would end up withdrawing from most of the world if it weren't for her dragging him out all the time.

But it wasn't a bad thing, really.

. . .

The bar was loud. A football game played on the several televisions mounted on the walls and trashy music blended in with the dull buzz of people talking and glasses clinking. It was also filthy. Well, by bar standards, one of the cleanest around, but a far cry from the pristine cleanliness that Rivaille could've been sitting in. Admittedly, the alternative to this (staring that the same page of a book for hours in the silence of his flat) wasn't preferable, but this wasn't all that great either. Maybe another drink would make this place seem nicer.

"Rivaille, you're going to get drunk."

"No, I'm not," he retorted, batting Erwin's hand away. "I'm not driving, so it's fine." He didn't feel very intoxicated; a little wobbly, his vision a little unfocused around the edges, maybe.

Hanji chuckled, red-faced. If anyone was drunk, it was her. "Aw, let him be, Erwin."

"You've had plenty to drink yourself. Wasn't I the one who said I needed a beer?"

"We haven't gone out in ages, lighten up. Geez." Erwin only sighed, resigned. Hanji resumed telling whatever story about something (apparently hilarious to the point that she did more laughing than talking) that happened in the lab sometime last week.

Despite knowing the consequences, he ordered another pint. "Last one," he promised when Erwin shot a look at him.

He didn't get five minutes of quiet. "'Oi, Rivaille, lookit that girl. She's pretty. She your type?" Hanji elbowed him and pointed towards a slim girl with short brown hair and dark makeup. She said something to her friends accompanied by greatly exaggerated gestures, then threw her head back and laughed. Rivaille wasn't sure if she was joking or not.

"Bars aren't the kind of place I want to look for potential dates at."

"Don't be so cold. You need someone lively like that in your life." Hanji chewed on her lip, scanning the bar for more poor individuals that might appeal to his tastes. "What about her?" As pretty as the busty redhead admittedly was…

"No."

"Well...what about the guys?"

He didn't bother looking around. "Still no."

Hanji sighed, exasperated. "There has to be at least one person in here who fits your tastes."

"There's not, I promise," he insisted. He'd let Hanji play her games, but this was getting annoying. He could pretend to be attracted to someone just to shut her up, but then she'd probably insist on him making a move or whatever, and he wasn't going to deal with that.

"Rivaille, you're gonna die alone if you don't find someone soon."

He lingered over his drink for a moment. "What if I already have someone?" Regret for his loose tongue washed over him immediately. He shouldn't have said that. Whatever voice in his head that was still sober berated him for drinking more than he'd planned to. Hanji was just teasing him, anyway. Why'd he even bother saying something?

Hanji's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she jerked her drink towards him, nearly spilling. "Do ya?" Rivaille glanced at her, holding her gaze for a moment before returning his attention to the glass in his hand.

"...Not really."

She pouted. "That's not a real answer. Tell me, has the old grouchy bear found a mate?" Erwin snorted a laugh and Rivaille glared daggers at her.

"That's the stupidest thing you've said all night."

That earned him an elbow to the ribs. "You do. You do. You've so found someone you like. Who's it? 'S gotta be someone we know."

Rivialle scowled. No, this was stupid. How'd they even get in this conversation? He didn't have anyone like that anyway…Or, more of, he didn't have someone he actually had a chance with, because he was selfish and stupid. He hadn't intended for things to end up like this...but that wasn't the point. When you loved someone, weren't you supposed to be there for them? Weren't you supposed to understand them, weren't you supposed to keep them happy? Because he'd fucking screwed up with that. He couldn't properly help Eren, he couldn't even fall for the right person.

He'd really fallen for Eren?

It was undeniable when the words were bubbling up and itching to be said.

Rivaille set his drink down, brow furrowing. "Ah, shit...I really like him." His voice was barely louder than a breath, lost in the noise of the bar, but he felt like there was an alarm going off in his head.

"Huh? What was that?" Hanji asked, slouching over the counter. When he didn't answer, she whined. "Seriously, who do you like?" He ignored her, sighing and bringing his drink back to his lips and downing what was left of it in one swallow, Erwin yanking it away from him a few moments too late.

"I think we're going now," he said. "I've paid, come on." He stood up and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. Rivaille stood and grabbed the counter when Hanji stumbled into him. Erwin grabbed both of them by the shoulder and led them out of the building, keeping them from tripping over themselves- although Hanji was in more danger than Rivaille.

"Sooo, Erwin, do we owe ya or do ya love us?" Hanji drawled as they piled in the car.

"You owe me."

"You're a cruel man, Erwin," she groaned. "Right, Rivaille?" He didn't answer. He'd slumped against the window, wishing he was home already so he could try to sleep off the ache in his chest. He felt like the weight he'd been carrying around since he found Eren in the bathroom had doubled in size in one night. This...was stupid. He was drunk. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Now wasn't the time to think about this kind of thing.

They stopped at Hanji's first, and Erwin had to get out to walk her to the door so she didn't trip and fall on her face while practically yelling her goodbyes, where Petra let her in. Rivaille watched them talk for a moment, before Erwin bade them goodnight and returned. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, focusing on driving, but eventually, he glanced back at Rivaille, who was still staring at the floor and frowning.

"Are you alright?"

"Dunno."

Erwin didn't comment about the unhelpfulness of his reply, seeming to decide it was better not to pry. Rivaille let his head fall back against the seat, biting at his lip. He wanted water. They sat in silence until it was broken again, this time by Rivaille.

"Hey, Erwin."

"Yes?"

"What are you supposed to do when the person you love wants to die?"

There was a long silence. Then, "I don't know. That's..."

"...Pretty shitty. Yeah." More silence. The car stopped and Erwin got out, coming around to open the door for him. Rivaille clambered out and started walking, finding himself able to walk in a straighter line than he'd expected. He still accepted Erwin's help, not wanting to trip over a crack in the walk.

"I can handle myself inside," he promised when Erwin opened the door and let him in.

"Okay. Hey, Rivaille." Erwin waited until Rivaille looked up and met his gaze. "Get some sleep. Think about things in the morning."

Rivaille nodded once and gave him a small wave, letting the door close behind him. He slipped his shoes off and hung his jacket before stumbling down the hall to his bedroom, pulling his shirt off and kicking his pants off. He left them on the floor, too out of it to put them in the hamper. He flopped on top of the blankets and groaned, rolling onto his back at staring up at the dark ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him. He wasn't sure how long he lay there for, but eventually his eyes grew heavy and closed, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

. . .

Rivaille was first aware of the dull pounding in his head, then the light behind his eyes, and then the dryness in his mouth when he stirred. He groaned and rolled over, eyes opening and quickly shutting against the sunlight. He wished he'd drunk some water or at least had the insight to put a glass by his bed last night, because he didn't really want to get up. He wasn't severely hungover, as his memories were painfully clear (he refused to address them until he'd had a shower and some aspirin) and he didn't feel sick, but he'd definitely drunk too much. He forced himself to get up, picking his dirty clothes up and dropping them in the hamper. He pulled his boxers off and dropped them in too, before heading into the bathroom and stepping into the shower before letting the water heat up.

The shock of cold definitely woke him up.

When he felt clean enough (he'd have to strip the sheets off his bed and wash them because he'd probably been filthy from the bar when he went to sleep last night-yuck) he got out and rubbed a towel viciously through his hair, leaving it messier than it was before. He could comb it after he'd taken something to stop the dull pounding in his head. He wrapped the towel around his hips and went in search of medicine.

He downed the pills with an entire glass of water, and then another, before returning to his bedroom to find clothes. When he was dressed and his hair was tamed he returned to the kitchen, finding himself rather not hungry, so he made himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, only now allowing himself to consider the consequences of his actions.

The problem was that his realization had not just been influenced by the alcohol; no, he actually had feelings for Eren, and fuck he couldn't even try to deny it anymore. That was a problem all on it's own, but then he'd gone and admitted it to Erwin, although indirectly. Still.

His irrational side asked him what the big deal about liking Eren was.

Eren was ten years younger. Eren was still in college and didn't have time for a relationship. Eren had some serious mental problems and did not need Rivaille's interference, because he'd just cause more trouble anyway. If Rivaille loved him, he should've been able to notice something was wrong and do something about him. He'd only cause trouble for Eren, right? He spent most of his time with him. He should've noticed, he should've been able to help him…

He knew what Eren would say to him blaming himself. Eren was wrong. Everything was wrong.

His phone went off. _You okay?_ Erwin asked.

_Yeah. Is Hanji dead?_

_According to Petra, yes._

Rivailel huffed, downing half his coffee in two swallows. _Not surprised._ There were a few minutes of silence before Erwin texted him again. He hadn't realized he'd been waiting for it.

_Are you really okay?_ He wasn't talking about headaches and upset stomachs anymore. This time, Rivialle didn't really have an answer. Yes, he was fine, but no, he wasn't because everything was screwed up. He didn't know himself, so it was easier to just...

_I'm fine._

_Okay._ Erwin didn't text him anymore after, and he wasn't sure if he wished he would or not. He wasn't sure of anything aside from the fact that he was a total dick. But he already knew that.

He was probably imagining the ache in his chest.

**Eren's POV**

He wasn't so numb anymore.

Was that progress? It was start to feel more and more like a setback than anything, the longer this went on. Eren didn't know if he wanted to die anymore, but he was still supposed to be, and the rest of his emotions were all the more confusing. He was caught between caring about nothing and worrying about everything, and when the numbness and the sort of emotional emptiness that came with being prepared to die began fading away, confusion and anger took hold. He was mad at himself, but he ended up lashing out at others without meaning to as the weeks went on.

He didn't eat. When he didn't eat, Mikasa forced him to. When she forced him to, he argued. When they argued, he got mad, and even if she tried to be patient he ended up yelling at her. When he didn't want to take his meds, because he could hardly make sense of his head without them and they only temporarily wrapped his emotions in cotton, they argued. He couldn't get along with Mikasa, with Armin, with anyone, for more than an hour. He didn't really want to.

He knew he was being a prick, more of an ass than Jean at times (and that was something). But that just made things worse because he didn't _want_ to be picking fights with everyone. He was mad at himself, but for some reason he lashed out on others instead, and he didn't know why.

Goddammit, after what Mikasa and Armin had done for him. After his friends decided to stick around even if he was a jerk. After wasting time and money on reviving his sorry ass, this was how he thanked them.

He wanted to see Rivaille. They hadn't had a lot of time to see each other since he started therapy, and Eren missed him. But he was afraid to text him too much, to ask to see him, because he'd already fucked so much shit up and he knew if he went they'd end up fighting within forty minutes and he desperately didn't want that to happen.

Eren flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He'd gotten in a fight with Mikasa. Again. Right after getting back from another appointment with Mina, who was the only person that didn't aggravate him. She seemed to have endless patience and she never tried to pry things out of him. He never said much more than the (extremely) abridged version of what he was feeling or thinking or whatever. But today…

God, he didn't even know anymore. He didn't want to think. He hated this, hated himself for being so horrible. Anger and confusion was feeling, but at least when he was mostly numb he hadn't been hurting others with only himself to blame. Besides, there were other ways to feel...and maybe other ways to take his anger out, on himself so he wasn't making things even worse.

He shouldn't.

_You mess everything up. You've been horrible lately. If anything, you deserve more scars._

Eren clenched his teeth and sat up. Maybe he'd forget all of the shit going on inside of his head, and maybe that kind of pain, seeing his blood against his skin would make things clearer. He already had too many, so what difference would a few make? _Once you start, you won't stop._ For the first time in what felt like forever, the realization that he didn't care scared him.

But it wasn't scary enough.

He went over to his dresser and opened the top drawer, digging through mismatched socks for his blades. It took him about thirty seconds to notice something was wrong.

They weren't...They weren't there.

He searched the rest of the drawers, the floor, under the bed, his other hiding places. Nothing. He frantically ran through all his memories of the past month. Mikasa couldn't have found them, she never went through his stuff. Maybe when she brought him clothes at the hospital? No, they were definitely hidden. She would've had to dig for them. Who else had been in his room? Armin once, but he hadn't touched the drawer…

_Oh_. Oh _fuck_. Eren went back to his bed, dread pooling in his gut, and picked up his phone. He scrolled back through his messages, not having to go very far to find what he was looking for, what he was really hoping not to find even though he knew it was there.

_You should thank me; I cleaned your room._

It made sense. He'd still been in the hospital. Rivaille was borderline OCD with his cleaning. He went through everything, organized everything, cleaned anything he could reach, dusted every flat surface in sight...and he would've gone through his sock drawer without a second thought. And he, unlike Mikasa, would dig around, even if he didn't intend to snoop around.

Rivialle had found them. Which meant that he'd shown them to Mikasa, probably given them to her. Shit. Why hadn't they said anything? No, it made sense. No, now was not the time to think about that. This was bad. Bad bad bad. Eren wanted to cry, to tear his hair out, something. He wanted his blades back. He didn't want them to know, couldn't have them know. He'd unknowingly caused even more trouble now, for himself and for whoever knew. Shit, he'd fucked up, was a fuckup. Everything was so, so, so messed up already; why this too?

Eren dropped his phone and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he could rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He fucked up, everything was fucked up, he was fucked up. He'd managed to make things worse yet again, without even opening his mouth this time. And Mikasa hadn't said a thing to him yet, not that he blamed her. She probably didn't know what to do because...because he was a fuckup. He should've been dead. It was like running into a wall that he'd seen approaching from miles back but had failed to slow down in time for. He. Should've. Been. _Dead_.

_You've said that too many times to count, so why aren't you? You can't do anything right anyway, look what's happened now? It's always been like this, clearly you weren't supposed to stick around for so long. They'll miss you until they see how much easier it is without you._

He wanted to cut his brain out. But his blades were gone.

_Don't let that stop you._

No, yes, there were other ways to bleed, to feel pain.

_You deserve to feel pain anyway. Why take your anger out on other people when you're the problem?_

His mind was sick, but wasn't the rest of him just as twisted? His own thoughts were killing him, but his thoughts and his demons were one and the same, because he was his own monster. Everything...everything suddenly felt very dark again. Everything was his fault. No matter which way he turned, he was faced with more of his own mess. Right now, meds and therapy didn't mean shit. He was angry and confused and he couldn't breathe properly and the world felt like it was closing around him, trapping him with no way out of the ruins he was responsible for.

He didn't really realize that his teeth were digging into his skin until he was tasting blood, and he didn't really care that he was leaving marks all down the side of his arm. He bit into his arm again and again, sometimes breaking the skin and always leaving what would soon be bruise after bruise. This was different from cutting, it wasn't as easy to control and less methodical. But it gave him the kind of pain that burned, sent shivers up his arm and neck and ached. And he bled. There was a chaotic line of overlapping bite marks on his left forearm when he finally stopped, staring at the results of what he'd done and letting it sink in. There...there was no easy way to hide this. His arm hurt. He felt sick and he still felt trapped. His breathing picked up, shallow and quick as he stared at his shaking hands. Trying to catch his breath only resulted in him making a sound like a sob and breathing faster.

There was a knock on his door. "Eren? Are you okay?"

_Fuck_. No, he was not okay. But Mikasa didn't need to know just how not okay he was today. He needed to get his voice to work before she opened the door, he needed to tell her he was trying to sleep so she'd leave him alone for a while...too late. Mikasa stuck her head in the door, eyes flicking around his room, to his dresser with all it's drawers pulled open and his clothes strewn around after his desperate search for his blades, and then to him. If his shallow breathing wasn't all he could hear at the moment he might've heard the gasp he saw her make.

She stepped in, leaving the door open, and slowly knelt in front of him, eyes not leaving his. "Eren." Her voice was calm, gentle but firm. "Eren, it's okay. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Yeah, like that. Good, good. Just keep breathing like that, with me." She fell silent for a moment, nodding her head with each breath he took. "You're still hyperventilating, Eren. Try breathing a little deeper, like this-" she took a breath, taking his shaking right hand in both of hers. "See, good. You're okay, everything's going to be okay." Eren focused on her words, trying to blot out everything else because he knew he would freak out if he didn't.

Mikasa squeezed his hand. "Eren, will you tell me what happened?"

He didn't know if he could. "I...I…I was...my blades were gone, and..." Mikasa nodded, sighing softly.

"I know, I'm sorry. Rivaille found them, and I told him to take them out of the house. I should've said something, I just didn't know what to say. I didn't want to bring it up until I had to...but I should've, and I'm sorry. This is-"

"Don't," Eren gasped, "blame yourself. Fuck...just don't. Please. It's not your fault. It's me, all me. I-I...all my fault, everything is. So don't." He hated the sad look she gave him. "This is not your fault, it's always been me. Always. I'm the fuckup. Not you."

"You're not a fuckup." Her voice shook slightly and her entire body stiffened. "Eren. Listen to me, because I don't want to repeat myself a hundred times, even though I will say this over and over again until you _have_ to believe me, even if I get no sleep: you are the most important person in my 're my last remaining family, my best friend, my brother. You are worth more than any amount of money ever. You are worth more than all the possessions and property I own. I don't want to hear about how I'm going to regret putting you before my future, college, whatever, because I care more about you than any of that. I want to help you, and I know everything is fucking messed up right now and I know it all seems hopeless but I promise it's not, and I'm not leaving your side. And I'm not the only one who cares about you, Eren. Armin's like another brother to me and to you, I know that and so do you. Eren, we want to help you."

Eren tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. She was wrong. If he was gone, she'd understand just how much trouble he caused. If he was gone, everything would be easier. "But I've just caused even more trouble now. That just proves it, right-"

She cut him off. "You're wrong. Eren, you can't just get better overnight. There's going to be setbacks and bad days. But I'll help you get through them, okay? It's going to get better someday. So now," she took his other hand gently, "let me clean you up."

Eren nodded slowly and let her lead him to the bathroom, his eyes trained on the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look up at her when she gently directed him to sit on the closed toilet, nor when she rummaged around in the cabinet for a moment, not even when she kneeled in front of him to treat his arm. He winced when she began cleaning the wounds, but he swallowed his discomfort down because he'd brought this on himself. He deserved it, so he didn't have a right to complain anyway. He focused on keeping his breathing steady and not letting his thoughts spiral out of control again.

He couldn't keep them in order, but at least he could entertain one solid thought at a time again.

"Eren," Mikasa murmured when she was done bandaging his arm. He glanced at her. "I will patch you up as many times as it takes...but Eren, please, I don't want you to take things out on yourself. Even if you don't want to talk to me...I will do anything I can to help you, okay? So don't be afraid to come to me, because I don't want to keep putting a bandage over a cut, I want the cut to heal. Okay?"

Eren looked down again. "Y-yeah," he said quietly, even though he knew he couldn't climb onto her back and let her support him just because he couldn't shoulder his own problems. He'd have to deal with himself when it came down to it. Other people didn't deserve to suffer for him.

She held both his hands in hers. "You can always call Mina, or talk to me, or Armin, okay? We'll listen. We don't want you to think you're alone. Okay?"

"Okay."

But he was alone, and the voice in the back of his mind reminded him of it every time there was a break in his thoughts.

A/N the Second: I keep writing Levi instead of Rivaille because this fic is now the only time I use that spelling, so I might start using that instead as of the next chapter so I don't have to keep going back and fixing it. I want to be consistent but it's easier and actually the correct spelling.

I know this chapter is pretty bleh and not what you were hoping for after so long but...yeah I don't have an excuse. Don't look at me.

I didn't originally think Eren would resort to biting, but yeah... it is linked to his actions in canon, I think. He surprised me.


End file.
